Irrational Fears
by IrenaAdler
Summary: Drabble series with Marshall Penfield and Charlie/Colby, with David, Megan and Don. Penfield finds something embarrassing in Charlie's office and threatens to ruin him. Seventeen and last, Colby and Charlie contemplate their day. Now Complete!
1. Irrational Fears

**Irrational Fears—**

"Why are we out here?" Colby whispered.

"No reason," Charlie whispered back.

"Charlie, we're hiding in the bushes outside your office!"

"Well, um, I thought I saw a rare butterfly."

"A butter—Wait, someone's in your office!" Colby reached for his gun.

"Whoa," Charlie said. "It's just Penfield."

"Penfield?" Colby squinted at him. "As in Marshall Penfield, your nemesis?"

"I wouldn't say _nemesis_ …"

"So why are we hiding?"

"See, well … I've, uh … developed a deep phobia to, um, set theorists from Princeton."

Colby folded his arms and leaned against the building. "I see. You've developed an irrational and unexplainable fear of set theorists."

"From Princeton," Charlie added. "Completely sudden and debilitating."

"Nothing to do with how much he rattled you last time?"

"No ..."

"Or that recent editorial attacking your work in Cognitive Emergence as 'Fluffy Math'?"

"It's not even published yet and he's already criticizing it!"

"Or that since you've last seen Penfield, you've ditched a girlfriend and gained a boyfriend."

"Nothing to do with that. Though he'd find a way to criticize that, too."

Colby eyed Charlie then moved a little closer to the window. "What is he doing in there, anyway?"

"Don't let him see you!" Charlie hissed urgently.

"I think I can hide from a 'set theorist'. He's snooping around!"

"Probably looking for something he can rip apart in a journal article."

"Maybe, but …" A slow grin spread across Colby's face. "Do you ever keep classified material in your office?"

"Well, I try not to leave it there when I go, but occasionally, yes."

"Your office door was locked?"

"I _think_ …"

A wicked gleam shone in Colby's eyes and he pulled out his gun. "Let's see if I can cause Dr. Penfield to develop a few 'phobias' of his own …"


	2. A Little Healthy Competition

**A Little Healthy Competition—**

Grumbling to himself, Marshall shuffled through the papers on Eppsie's desk. The man's desk was as messy as his brain. Marshall found murder statistics, baseball box scores, and something that looked like an attempt to balance his checkbook.

Nothing that Marshall could use.

_Dammit, where does he keep the good stuff?_

Marshall was desperate—_motivated_ to find some of the cognitive emergence work that had set the math world buzzing. He'd made a career of contradicting everything Eppsie published, but the annoying man was now wandering off into an area that Marshall had no skill—_no interest­_ in. Vague attacks were only interim, he needed to completely discredit this cognitive emergence stuff and get Eppsie back into set theory where he belonged.

It was convenient that Eppsie was one of the few important people working in his new field._ Can't take competition, never could._ Marshall smirked to himself. Eppsie was always shocked when anyone didn't fall over and worship his brilliance. That Marshall actually dared to _question_ his work put Eppsie into a gratifying tizzy.

Now at a side table, Marshall examined an interesting page of scrawls until he realized it was some sort of Sudoku solve-all. Tossing it aside, he dug deeper.

And what was the latest on Eppsie? That he'd gone _gay_? Marshall sneered. Couldn't take competition in that arena either. It could hardly be coincidence that Charlie had 'discovered' his new sexual orientation after Marshall had stolen his girlfriend, Amita.

He picked up something on cellular automata. _Now this looks promising …_ Then a few pages below that he hit the jackpot – a sketching of ideas about how cognitive emergence research might be related to fields of study normally considered 'paranormal'. Marshall couldn't help a triumphant crow. _Oh, I can ruin him with this … _

"Freeze, FBI!"


	3. A Mild Misunderstanding

**A Mild Misunderstanding—**

Prompt # 146 - Temperature

When the voice shouted for Marshall to freeze, he didn't. He wasn't used to people yelling things like that at him, so his first instinct was to turn toward the noise.

It wasn't until he saw the gun pointed at his face that the meaning of 'freeze' percolated through his brain. He still didn't freeze, but he did put his hands up.

"What? Wait!" Marshall stammered. "I'm a friend of Dr. Eppes, this is his office!"

The big blond behind the gun narrowed his eyes. He took one hand off the gun and unclipped a badge from his belt. He held the badge up but Marshall barely registered it, unable to tear his eyes from the barrel of the gun.

"FBI," the man repeated. "I'm aware that this is Dr. Eppes's office. How did you get in here?"

"Get … huh?"

"Breaking and entering into the office—"

"I didn't break anything!"

"—of a professor known to work with highly classified material—"

"A Sudoku solver?"

"—could be interpreted as highly suspicious. Especially when you deliberately avoided the security precautions."

"Security …?"

"Dr. Eppes is a highly valued asset to the U.S. government. Do you think we'd leave him unprotected?"

"He's a mathematician, not some secret agent," Marshall grumbled. "I don't know why you would—"

"What were you looking for?"

Marshall managed a semi-casual shrug. "Nothing."

"So what is that in your hands?"

"Oh," Marshall said, realizing he was still holding Charlie's page of notes, as well as one of Charlie's metallic puzzles. "It's just …" Without thinking, Marshall lowered his hands and thrust the items toward the man.

And found himself slammed face-down into a table, his right arm twisted behind his back and the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his neck.


	4. Just Some Math

**Just Some Math –**

"Oof, hey!" Marshall complained, his nose jammed into the table. "Wait, wait!" He turned his head. "I'm unarmed!"

The gun was withdrawn then the metal puzzle plunked down next to Marshall's face. He supposed that it _could_ have looked like a weapon.

"What else do you have?" the man snapped. He reached for the paper that Marshall was still gripping in his left hand and Marshall noticed that the gunman incongruously had leaves on his sleeve.

"Oh, nothing," Marshall said quickly. "Just some math."

Still holding Marshall easily down on the table with one hand, the man looked at the page of notes. His eyes sharpened and Marshall realized that this meathead wasn't as dense as he appeared.

"Just some of Dr. Eppes's break-through work on cognitive emergence."

"I wouldn't say _break-_through," Marshall snorted. "Rather pedestrian—"

The man twisted Marshall's arm harder and Marshall squeaked in pain. He leaned close to Marshall's ear and said quietly, "There are many military powers that would be thrilled to get their hands on Dr. Eppes's work, especially as it relates to artificial intelligence and smart bombs."

"Smart … _bombs_?"

"Stealing Dr. Eppes's theories," the man continued in a calm, matter-of-fact voice that sent shivers down Marshall's spine, "Might even be categorized as terrorism."

"Hey, wait, hold on, that's crazy!"

His voice went even softer, "Crazy is how few rights you have if I decide you're a terrorist. I'm sure they can find a nice comfy cell for you at Gitmo."

Marshall shuddered, fully believing him.

A sound from the doorway made Marshall twist his head that way. Eppsie was standing there.

"Thank God!" Marshall gasped. "Eppsi—Charlie, tell this man I'm not a terrorist!"

Charlie didn't even look at Marshall, but rather looked past him at the gunman. "Okay, Colby, that's enough."


	5. Peer Review

**Peer Review –**

Charlie had enjoyed watching Colby plant Penfield's face into the table, followed by Penfield's increasingly panicked babble. But when Colby started talking Gitmo, he knew he had to stop it.

"Okay, Colby, that's enough."

Colby looked up and Charlie shivered at the dark look on his face.

"Are you sure?" Colby snapped. "Look what he had." He held out a piece of paper.

Frowning, Charlie took it. Then he recognized it and his stomach dropped to his toes.

"This was just for fun!" Charlie said to Penfield. "Larry and I just messing around."

"Get this jackass off me!" Penfield growled.

"Oh, right. Let him up."

Grumbling under his breath, Colby roughly jerked Penfield up from the table. Penfield pulled away from him and straightened his suit.

"Don't think much of your hospitality," Penfield said stiffly.

"What were you doing here?" Charlie asked.

"I need a reason to visit a friend when I'm in town?"

Charlie snorted. "Marshall, we've never been friends."

"I'm hurt, Eppsie," Penfield said, his usual sneer restored. "After all these years."

"All these years of attacking me," Charlie said, leftover adrenaline making him more direct than usual.

"It's called 'Peer Review' and if you can't take it, you shouldn't publish."

"No, it's always been personal." Charlie folded his arms across his chest. "What did I ever do to you?"

Marshall's eyebrows shot up. "To me? Nothing, other than being superior and smug. You've just needed to be taken down a peg -- several pegs -- since I've met you. Just because I'm the only one with the nerve to question the Great Charles Eppes, doesn't mean it's personal."

"So what's with calling Cognitive Emergence 'fluffy math'?"

"Well, it obviously is," Marshall smirked, pointing at the paper in Charlie's hands. "And it's time the math world learned that."


	6. Part of the Process

**Part of the Process –**

Penfield didn't get one step towards the door before Colby grabbed him by the back of his collar. Gurgling, Penfield came to an abrupt stop.

"Charlie," Colby said. "We can't just let him walk out."

Charlie's shoulders slumped. "I don't see what else we can do."

"You think 'fluffy math' was bad? He'll crucify you with this!"

Penfield began to speak but a twist of Colby's hand stopped him.

Charlie frowned at the floor. "It's part of the process of peer review."

Colby hauled Penfield back and shoved him towards a chair.

Penfield protested, "How dare—"

"Stow it," Colby snapped.

"Why, you—"

Colby put his hand on his gun meaningfully and Penfield paled.

"Abuse of authority," he mumbled, but sat down anyway.

Colby turned back to Charlie. "Peer review means responding in a journal, not snooping through your office."

"True," Charlie sighed. "But now that he's here, I can't just tie him up and throw him in the closet."

Colby bared his teeth. "I can."

A shiver went through Charlie, a mixture of fear and love and comfort at Colby's protectiveness. Charlie put his hand on Colby's arm. "Cole, that's not a solution."

Colby smiled wryly, "No, but it'll get him out of our hair while we decide what to do."

"Oh God," Penfield groaned. "He's your _boyfriend_! I should have known! All this bull about 'security precautions' and he's just trying to save your ass." He guffawed. "Literally!"

Colby and Charlie glared at him, but he ignored the warning.

"That's how you get your FBI work," Penfield sneered. "By bending over for them until you found one who'd keep you around. Must be really good in the sack to make up for being a prissy prima donna."

The back of Colby's hand knocked Penfield to the floor.


	7. Worth It

**Worth It—**

Colby knocked Penfield to the floor and stood over him, fists raised. Cringing, Penfield covered his face with his arms.

"Wait!" Charlie shouted.

Colby growled and didn't look up. He hadn't drawn his gun, but that was almost worse – it showed he wasn't thinking as an agent, but as someone who could rip another person apart with his bare hands.

Charlie stepped closer to Colby, though careful to stay out of Penfield's reach. "As much as I'd enjoy watching you snap his scrawny neck, he's not worth going to jail."

"I know places where no one would find the body."

Charlie smiled wryly. "I don't doubt that you and I could construct the perfect murder, but he's not worth it."

Still not looking up, Colby said, "It would be an interesting exercise…" His low voice sent frissons of fear and excitement through Charlie. He rarely saw his lover in this mode and he was reminded that no matter how gentle Colby was with him, Colby really was a dangerous man.

"Yes, it would be interesting," Charlie said, attempting to keep his voice even. "But there has to be a better solution."

"Like what?"

Penfield piped up, "I suggest—"

"I _suggest_ you stay quiet," Charlie snapped. "I know you're too stupid to be afraid, but you've just threatened my career and life's work, as well as maligning my work with the FBI, my character, and the character of my partner."

Penfield continued unabated, even with blood seeping from his split lip, "However distasteful, the truth still—"

"And if you _don't_ shut up and let us think, I'm going to re-evaluate my decision to stop Colby and you'll discover exactly how _thoroughly_ an Army CID Interrogator is trained in how to cause pain without leaving any marks."

Penfield shut up.


	8. The Problem

**The Problem—**

While Charlie locked the office door, Colby dragged Penfield out of sight and handcuffed him. They met again in the center of the office.

"Now what?" Charlie asked quietly. "I don't know how we're going to get out of this mess."

"No problem is unsolvable for you," Colby responded.

Charlie resisted arguing that there were plenty of things he hadn't solved.

"You say to first define the problem," Colby said.

Charlie gave him a smile, pleased that Colby actually did listen to him, then he frowned again. "Our problem is that Penfield is an ass."

"Okay, maybe _that_ is unsolvable."

"It's permanent," Charlie agreed.

"The real problem is his threat to publish that page of notes that you and Larry did." Colby leaned against a nearby bookshelf. "You shouldn't have left it around."

Charlie glowered in Penfield's direction. "I didn't expect my office to get searched. Rather, I thought that if anyone went through my office, they'd be looking for classified stuff."

"Too bad that career sabotage isn't illegal."

"Or that he didn't find something classified."

"Wait …" Colby paused and frowned in thought.

"What?" Charlie said eagerly.

"What if it _was_ classified? Your cognitive emergence stuff?"

"Hey, no way, that's my math! I need to be able to talk about it and publish it!"

"Okay, well, what about just that little part?"

"What part?"

"Just that piece of paper."

Charlie eyed him. "You're going to classify a piece of paper that talks about the mind and ESP and the sixth sense?"

"Sillier things have been classified."

"Like what?"

"Drawings of presidents in dresses, the pedigree of someone's dog, a computer disk that has been run through a shredder."

"Huh. Can you do that, classify something?"

Colby grinned at him. "Hey, we're the FBI, we can do whatever we want."


	9. Classifications and Delusions

**Classifications and Delusions—**

"Seriously?" Charlie asked. "You can classify this piece of paper?"

Colby nodded. "It shouldn't be too hard, with your security clearance and your NSA work. You might need to write a few more obvious things on the paper, but sure."

"Okay, then what?"

Colby frowned in confusion. "Then it's classified."

"And he can't publish it?"

"Not without risking jail and other serious repercussions."

"But that's _after_ it's been published."

"Well, yeah, but …"

Charlie slumped, looking as despondent as he had earlier. "So he'll go to jail, but not until after ruining my career."

Colby stared at him then managed, "He'd publish it _knowing_ he'd go to jail? Does he really hate you that much?"

Charlie looked across the office to where Penfield was watching them with narrowed eyes. Charlie's eyes dropped, a gesture of defeat that made Colby's blood seethe.

"He hates me that much," Charlie said at last. "But that's not why he'd do it. He'd publish the work because he doesn't believe in academic secrets. Neither do I, actually, but this is more about privacy than secrecy."

"So he'd publish it to make a stand for freedom of speech?"

"I think that's how he'd justify it to himself and to whatever journal he uses." Charlie turned back to Colby, his brown eyes dark with anxiety. "But maybe he just really hates me that much."

"Even though he'd know he'd be going to jail."

Charlie shrugged. "I'm not sure he'd really believe that. He'd believe he'll be protected, that nothing would happen to him."

"Hmm …" Anger at the conniving Penfield throbbed through Colby's veins. "He thinks nothing can happen to him?" He felt an unpleasant smile creep across his face and Charlie's eyes widened.

"Now _that_," Colby said softly, "Is an illusion I'd be happy to dispel."


	10. Standoff

**Standoff—**

Trying not to pull against the handcuffs, Marshall watched Eppsie and his meathead partner-in-crime try to find a way to stop the inevitable shredding of Eppsie's career. They were murmuring earnestly together, and Marshall noticed with satisfaction that Eppsie looked quite shaken.

During his enforced wait, Marshall was constructing his damning article, with his current favorite title being, 'Cognitive Emergence and its Connection to Paranormal Phenomena: Mathematics or Mumbo-Jumbo?' Some graphics would be especially cutting, perhaps a chart on the occurrence of reported UFO sightings increasing in the vicinity of CE theorists, particularly heavy in the area of Pasadena.

However pleasant this mental exercise was, Marshall's mind kept straying to what he was going to say to Eppsie's department chair. He pictured himself full of righteous indignation, speaking eloquently on how CalSci had become a police state, with anyone critical of the entrenched ways of thought being threatened and beaten.

His tongue poked at his split lip. There'd probably be a bruise on his cheek, too. A black eye would be ideal. How long did it take black eyes to show up?

There was movement across the office and Marshall saw that the FBI thug had moved as far away from Marshall as possible and was talking quietly into his phone. _Probably talking to his lawyer … or his mommy._

The thug shut his phone and silence fell, interrupted occasionally by murmurs between the other two. _Probably deciding how to get out of town. _Marshall stayed silent, adding 'suppressed speech' to his list of grievances. It was difficult, though, not to gloat outloud. But watching Eppsie's stricken face was enjoyment enough. The thug's dark, troubled face was a pleasant bonus.

Suddenly, a knock at the office door broke the quiet.

_Thank God, rescue! _

"Hey, in here!" Marshall yelled. "Help me!"


	11. This Joke

**This Joke—**

Eppsie's thug answered the door. Marshall couldn't see who it was – he was hoping for the department chair or campus security, but a student would be fine – then two strangers stepped inside. Marshall frowned in disappointment. It was a man and a woman, and they looked like Feds. Indeed, they spoke quietly to the thug.

Still, when they walked towards him, the woman smiled in greeting. She was quite attractive, in a government sort of way, and Marshall sat up straighter.

"Dr. Penfield?"

"Yes!" Marshall replied. "Am I glad to see you!"

"I'm Agent Reeves and this," she waved towards the black man with her, "Is Agent Sinclair. I understand there's been some difficulties?"

"Difficulties?" Marshall repeated snidely. "I've been roughed up, hand-cuffed and tossed on the floor, what do you think?"

"I see," Reeves said. She nodded to the other agent who easily lifted Marshall to his feet.

"Finally!" Marshall said and rattled the handcuffs meaningfully. "Someone needs to put a leash on Eppsie and his pet gorilla."

"Dr. Penfield," Reeves said, her voice dropping several degrees in temperature. "We have some questions for you."

"Then ask!" Marshall snapped, frustrated and remembering too late that he probably shouldn't criticize the thug to the other thugs. "And get these cuffs off! Don't you have a universal key or something?"

"If you would come with us," she said. The thug who had hold of Marshall's arm was now walking him towards the door.

"Come where?"

"To our office, to answer some questions."

"To your …" He stared at her and stumbled forward a few more steps.

Eppsie moved aside as Marshall neared the door.

Marshall snarled, "Eppes, this joke has gone too far!"

"It's not a joke," Eppsie replied flatly. "And you're the only one who doesn't seem to realize it."


	12. Out of Control

**Out of Control—**

The black thug – Sinclair – almost got Marshall out the door while he was thinking of a snappy comeback to Eppsie.

"Hey," Marshall said, digging in his heels. "Take off the cuffs first! People are going to think I'm under arrest!"

"The cuffs are for our protection," the female thug – Reeves – said. "Standard procedure."

Marshall braced one foot against the doorframe. "I'm hardly dangerous!"

"We try not to judge based on body type," Reeves said coolly.

"Am I under arrest?" Marshall demanded. "For what?"

"You aren't under arrest, yet," Reeves said, shifting Marshall's foot off the doorframe. "We just need to ask you some questions."

"What questions? You want to know about set theory, I'm your man, but otherwise—"

Sinclair gave a small shove.

As Marshall was pushed through the doorway, he turned his head towards the reason for his predicament and snapped, "I'll get you for this, Eppsie!"

He was rewarded by a small groan from Eppsie, then he was being _marched_ down the CalSci hallway in _handcuffs_.

"Just a small misunderstanding," he said to gaping students.

"That's what this is," he said to Reeves, who had taken his other arm. "Eppsie's office wasn't locked. I mean, the doorknob was stiff and I had to push hard, but you know these old buildings."

"Really," Reeves said noncommittally.

"Just a misunderstanding," Marshall said to a staring professor. He was marched down the stairs. This was spiraling out of control. "You're just trying to scare me because Eppsie—Charles is your friend, right?"

Reeves didn't respond. That seemed ominous.

"Wait, you haven't told me that I have the right to remain silent and stuff."

"That's if we were arresting you." Her fingers dug into his arm. "But I think it would be in your best interest if you remained silent, anyway."


	13. From Campus to Campus

**From Campus to Campus – **

The Feds marched Marshall across most of the campus – where did they park, San Diego? – and the only words spoken were Marshall reassuring more passersby. Finally, they reached a big black SUV that screamed either 'Fed' or 'Drug Dealer'.

As they drove downtown, Marshall looked out the window. _How about the title, 'A Call for the Critical Assessment of Cognitive Emergence' or, better yet, 'Cognitive Emergence: The Math of X-files?'_

They reached some office buildings, parked, and Marshall was led into an elevator.

"Reeves …" Marshall said with sudden insight. "Are you dating Fleinhart?"

Reeves eyed him then nodded.

"Wow, I didn't expect you to be … attractive."

Reeves raised her eyebrows.

"I mean, Fleinhart's the geekiest geek there is. Hmm, Eppsie and his boy, another geek and Fed. Is this a trend? I'm a mathematician, I look for patterns. Agent Sinclair, are you dating a geek?"

Sinclair shot him a murderous glance.

"Touchy," Marshall said. "So either 'yes', 'maybe', or 'you wish you were'."

Sinclair looked away and his jaw bulged.

"I guess opposites really do attract." Marshall turned back to Reeves. "I'm a single geek. Do you know any eligible Feds in the Princeton area? Women, of course, though I'm sure there are some perfectly lovely men."

Reeves's grip on Marshall's arm tightened painfully. As he tried to protest, the elevator door opened and Marshall was practically dragged through a busy office and plunked down at a table in a glass-walled room.

Reeves removed his handcuffs. "Wait here. Quietly." She stalked out, Sinclair on her heels.

"I don't think I'd want to date a Fed after all," Marshall grumbled, rubbing his wrists. "Lousy conversationalists."

The door reopened and in walked someone who looked no more pleased to see him.

"Professor Penfield," Agent Don Eppes said. "Welcome to _my_ classroom."


	14. Education

**Education—**

"Agent Eppes," Marshall said. "I was wondering when I'd see you again."

Don nodded. "We did meet during that home invasions case."

"I'd feel like I knew you, anyway. Eppsie was always talking about his amazing big brother and how good he was at baseball." Marshall smirked. "Sorry that didn't work out for you."

Don's eyes didn't even flicker at the barb, and, for the first time since Eppsie's boyfriend had held a gun to his head, Marshall began to feel nervous.

"I'm here to educate you," Don said, sitting across from Marshall. "You think that Charlie is a mathematician who occasionally helps out the FBI. While that's true, it is a tiny part of the picture. Charlie works with many different agencies, doing math miracles only he can."

Before Marshall could protest the word 'miracles', Don continued.

"Charles Eppes is considered a crucial national asset."

Marshall snorted.

"If you were to ruin Charlie's credibility, and therefore his ability to work with these agencies, there would be many displeased people."

Marshall's eyes narrowed. "You're saying—"

"I'm saying that there are many _legal_ ways for such agencies to show their displeasure. The NSA could use your computer network to test viruses. The CDC could quarantine your house. The DEA could raid it looking for marijuana. And Homeland Security could do whatever they want, once my team establishes your links to terrorism."

"Hey—"

"We already have you breaking and entering to search for classified material. We'll just interview your friends, family, co-workers, students, mailman, and ex-girlfriends until we find more links – and, believe me, _everyone_ has them somewhere."

Marshall's mouth went dry.

Don leaned forward. "The funny thing?" he said softly, and there was almost pity in his eyes. "None of that is what you really need to worry about."


	15. Clarity

**Clarity—**

Don walked around the table. "You think I'm a good guy, a law-and-order guy, and I _am_ … unless someone threatens my family."

Standing behind Marshall, Don leaned over and spoke quietly into his ear. "If you ruin my brother, I will walk away from my badge and spend my life ruining _you_.

"I haven't always worked in an office. I was once in Fugitive Recovery. Day after day, week after week, chasing some horrible felon. You learn to focus, to _become_ your quarry.

"And I've learned other skills since I came to work here. Like how to steal your identity and ruin your credit and finances. How to hack into computers, so that child pornography is found on your laptop. There are things that friends and co-workers won't overlook – seducing children, abusing animals, torturing women – and I'll make sure you're accused of each one."

Marshall tried to swallow.

"I will listen to your calls, read your email. You will never have a moment of peace, of privacy. You will jump at shadows, suspect everyone.

"And your health? I will put salmonella in your breakfast and laxatives in your coffee. I'll be at every restaurant and grocery store. I'll wake you each night, standing over you.

"When your friends have left you, your career is in shreds, and your health is shattered, I will disappear."

Don paused and his breath shivered across Marshall's skin.

"Eventually, you'll pull yourself together and get back on your feet. You'll think that the worst is past and you'll rebuild. Then I will reappear and it will all start over again.

"Because, Marshall," Don said, very softly. "I do not stop. I do not quit. And … I … do … _not_ … forgive."

Marshall whimpered and the sharp smell of urine filled the air.


	16. Marshall's World

**Marshall's World—**

Three hours after hearing 'Freeze, FBI', Marshall was standing on a CalSci sidewalk, dazed, as a black SUV drove away. The world seemed to sway gently around him and Marshall stumbled over to sit on a concrete planter. _Was LA having an earthquake?_

The concrete was wet – no, it was Marshall's pants that were wet. They'd let him clean himself up as much as possible in the FBI bathroom, but he still smelled faintly of urine. _How mortifying …_

He really needed to go back to his hotel and get clean clothes, a shower, a quiet nap. Instead, he stood, shakily, and headed towards the math department and the vacant office he'd been loaned while he was in town. He craved the soothing clatter of chalk against slate.

As he walked, Marshall slowly began to straighten up, come out of his FBI-induced fog. The comfortable environs of a campus wrapped around him. It didn't matter that it wasn't Princeton; it was his world.

_That was my mistake_. Stepping outside his world into the slimy, rough one that Eppsie inhabited. He didn't need to lower himself like that.

_Set theory, that's where I belong._ And that's where Eppsie belonged, too, though Marshall was now blocked from helping him realize that.

_No matter._ Let Eppsie play with his shiny new toy of Cognitive Emergence, he'd soon grow tired of it. Just like his dabbling in law enforcement. He'd soon come crawling back to real math.

Besides, there was no one in CE that would stand up to the 'great Charles Eppes'. Without a guide and critic, Eppsie would flounder, wander aimlessly, and eventually hang himself out to dry. _He needs me; he just hasn't realized it yet._

Humming to himself, Marshall cleared his mind and returned to the uncontaminated realm of numbers.


	17. Rational Fears

**Rational Fears—**

"I'd love to know what Don said," Charlie said that evening as he and Colby sat outside.

"We all would," Colby replied. "But whatever he said, it was very effective."

"Oh, yeah," Charlie said gleefully. He wished he'd been there, but watching the video of Don's interrogation had been almost as good. Penfield had gone from smug to shaking in the space of five minutes. Don's expression had changed very little, but the memory of that calm, factual, _brutal_ voice still made Charlie shiver.

"Could I have that video?" he asked. "Put it online and Penfield wouldn't come out of his hole for years. Plus, it would make Don a star."

"You know you can't," Colby laughed. "But I'll get you a copy so you can watch it whenever Penfield is being annoying."

"He'll be even worse when he recovers," Charlie said. "But I think he'll keep it to the usual journal attacks, which I can handle."

Colby smiled. "So no more phobia?"

"Huh?"

"That 'sudden irrational fear of set theorists from Princeton'?"

"Oh," Charlie said sheepishly. "No, I don't think I'll ever be afraid of Penfield again."

"Good! And him? Think he might have some new fears?"

"Yeah," Charlie grinned. "Hopefully strong enough to keep him away from LA for good. Maybe even never leave Princeton."

"Or jump when he sees a guy in a suit."

"Or have nightmares about all those bad things that Don said would happen."

"Yeah," Colby said wistfully. "There were things I'd have liked to tell him, too, but it couldn't just be your boyfriend threatening him."

"Nope, my friends and big brother, too."

Colby put his arm around Charlie. "For you."

"A 'crucial national asset'?"

"That," Colby grinned. "And our favorite fluffy mathematician."

Charlie's shout of protest could be heard across the neighborhood.


End file.
